I am my biggest critic
so when I visit the realms of my reality
I get exquisite sights of devils smiling at me
hoping that I fail on my pivot
with recollections of my past
when I sat on my ass
as somebody elses pawn
waiting to be moved just like the sacrificial lambs
on some 64 squares trying to protect a man dependent on his queen
so when I'm at my worst
they see the regression
not the depression
and they blame it on the
solitude
attitude
multitude of my worries
heightens with every flurry
of questions
second guessing
as if my wayward point of view
would lead to a catastrophic.....
and they wonder why I'm stressing
but what I don't get
is most shifts
I speak easy
sit queasy in my chair
trying to hold shyt......in
until let my porcelain...think...
what ya'll see in the alias
the "also known as"
I play with words and tickle your fancy
a catalyst to smiles and giggles and
head nods of approval to my views
but when the man turns off the monitor
the removal of my shoes
signals the call back to reality
a makeshift father
inconsistent lover
a brother with rules and regulations
similar to his mother's
and nobody's happy
the emptiness I get
the low point of it all
has me like a psychological slut
so I fall back
and issue silence
then I become...... "distant"
so I type to the document
because it's has no opinion
it takes everything in and absorbs it
projects back to me as a figment of understanding
and then I'm whole again.........
that is of course
until I turn off the monitor
Written by Point_Of_View